


Party Favors

by flameofarcana



Category: Naruto
Genre: (kind of), Anonymous Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flameofarcana/pseuds/flameofarcana
Summary: Itachi is stressed out over a new coworker joining his team. Sasuke tries to take his mind off of it by dragging him to a provocative masquerade, and Itachi ends up having spontaneous sex with a masked man. Surely, these two things have nothing to do with each other.
Relationships: (sasnar is only in the background), Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 132





	Party Favors

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!
> 
> starting things off with *checks notes* itachi getting railed. Yeah, that seems about right
> 
> you know when you are cooking and it tastes bad so you just keep fucking with it and adding more and more and it just ends up bad and weird but in a different way? that is exactly what I did to this fic
> 
> this was done for a kink meme I was a part of! whoever submitted the prompt, I hope that you enjoy! this was supposed to be finished right around Christmas, so that's why it takes place then. 
> 
> this is self indulgent and corny and cliche but if God didn't want me to write self indulgent, gooey shiita he wouldn't have given me hands and the ability to Use Words
> 
> these were inspiration images for shisui's outfit because it is Very Important to me for some reason  
> https://tinyurl.com/y5734foa  
> https://tinyurl.com/yybhvptz  
> https://tinyurl.com/y2wvolj3
> 
> OKAY ANYWAYS ENJOY

Itachi rubs a hand over his eyes. “Sasuke, I—”

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Itachi sighs. His glasses, already slipping off of his nose, make their final jump and go clattering against the table. He straightens his shoulders, feeling the fierce ache in the muscles of his neck and the top of his back; the joint between his clavicle and his shoulder pops with a shift that is somehow both satisfying and unpleasant, and he winces.

“In what universe do you think that I want to attend a sex party.”

“The one where you’re a fucking loser and you need to loosen up,” Sasuke replies dryly, knocking his hip up and against Itachi’s desk. “And it isn’t even a sex party, it’s an _adult_ party. You don’t have to fuck anyone.”

“Then what is the _point_ ,” Itachi stresses.

“I mean.” Sasuke blinks at him. “You _can_ fuck someone if you want.”

“I don’t want—” Itachi sighs, leaning back in his chair. He ignores the ache behind his eyes now that he has finally unfocused from the transcript in front of him. “When do I get to kick your ass in all of this?”

“In some universe I am sure you have beaten the ever-living shit out of me,” Sasuke says casually, brushing at something on his shirt sleeve. “In this one, however, I am your beloved baby brother who can do no wrong.” He gives Itachi a cheeky smile. “And you love to indulge me.”

Itachi just stares at him.

“Come on, aniki. When is the last time you got your way when you argued with me?” He plucks an uninteresting paper weight off the desk and pretends to analyze it. “You should just admit defeat already.”

Itachi spins a pen in his hands. “I’m feeling like it might be time for a Christmas miracle.”

“Don’t make me sic Naruto on you,” Sasuke threatens.

Itachi narrows his eyes, reaching for his glasses again. He doesn’t reply. Somehow, Naruto was able to twist the arm of nearly anyone, including Itachi. He could wear Itachi down in ways that even Sasuke couldn’t, and the majority of stupid situations Itachi found himself in could be attributed to Naruto and his stupid, blue, sparkling puppy dog eyes. 

“That’s what I thought,” Sasuke says with a grin. He sets the stupid stone paper weight back down with an unruly clatter. “Again, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He looks up at Itachi with gleeful eyes.

Against his own wishes, Itachi is flooded with a wave of fondness, because despite everything Sasuke is still the most precious thing in Itachi’s entire, rigid world. He slides his thick black glasses back up his nose and sighs down at the transcript in front of him. “I will think about it.”

Sasuke frowns over at him. Itachi thinks that by now, with all of his grimacing, he should have disgruntled lines pressed into his smooth skin; he doesn’t, though, not a wrinkle or blemish on his pinched face. Itachi also thinks that Sasuke is about to scold him for not giving him an enthusiastic ‘yes,’ but instead he snatches Itachi’s glasses right off of his face. “Why are you working this late? You can create your own hours and yet you shove yourself into this stuffy little office all night.”

Itachi squints over at his brother. “Sasuke, I cannot see.”

“Tough.” He slips them onto the top of his head, soft black hair spiking over the top of them like overgrown grass. “Let me drive you home.”

“I have more work to do, Sasuke.” He holds his hands out toward his brother’s blurry, vaguely disapproving form.

“Is dad working you to the bone again?” There’s a protective edge to his voice. Itachi can’t quite pinpoint the moment when Sasuke became defensive of him, when Sasuke was willing to clash with their father of all people over him, instead of the other way around.

“No.” Itachi pauses, lips curving down. “He is trying to help me by transferring someone into my department to work with me on my upcoming project.”

“You’re acting like that’s a bad thing,” Sasuke says with a frown.

“It _is_.” Itachi tosses the transcript back onto his desk. He can’t read for shit anyways without his glasses. “I work best alone,” he says. “Another colleague is only going to get in the way and slow me down.”

Sasuke snorts, shoving himself away from the desk. “You are ridiculous. Just make the dude get you coffee and shit.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“ _Tea_ , then, fucker.”

“I don’t need an assistant just to get tea,” Itachi quips.

“Oh, so they’re your assistant, now? And here I thought you were finally going to have an equal.”

Itachi rubs a tired hand over his sore eyes. “What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone and let me finish my work?”

“Agree to come with Naruto and me on Friday.”

Itachi groans out loud, uncharacteristic, head falling back. His pony tail sways behind the back of his thick leather chair. “ _Fine_.”

Sasuke grins ear to ear. “I knew you would give in eventually.” He ducks forward and down, quick as lighting, to press a chaste kiss to the top of Itachi’s black hair, and then slides Itachi’s glasses back onto his nose. He’s halfway out the door when he turns. “Really, though, it is late. You should go home and rest.”

Itachi adjusts the frames. “I will soon.”

He doesn’t go home soon; he works till nearly midnight, and only decides to pack things up when he dozes off and cracks his forehead against the desk.

Now he has to worry about Sasuke’s stupid party _and_ a new coworker.

\--

Itachi shifts in the seat, tugging at the edge of his shirt. “I don’t like this outfit,” he mutters.

“Aw,” Naruto says, spinning around in the passenger seat to look at him, “how come? You look great in it.”

“It’s—” he shifts again. _Revealing_ doesn’t do it justice. Sasuke ripped the top four buttons off of his black shirt, leaving it swayed open over his chest with no way of closing it. His pants are so tight he thinks you can _see certain things_ and isn’t sure he even wants to stand up. “I’m not used to wearing these types of clothes.”

“Wanna trade?” Naruto asks. His sparkling blue eyes look absurdly sincere, which is, well, unhelpful given that he is only wearing a fishnet mesh for a shirt and leather shorts.

“I’ll pass.”

The party that Sasuke has forced him to is located at an old, grand theater building with a big outdoor courtyard. It’s full of people, all in various forms of half undress and flamboyant masks, and Itachi starts to scramble for an excuse for Sasuke to take him home.

“Relax, Aniki,” Sasuke says as the Uber comes to a stop at the curb in front of the entrance, “and mask up.” He reaches over and slips Itachi’s mask over the top of his face. It’s a gradient of black and red with glittery black and red filigree overlay, covering the top half of his face. “No one will even know who you are, so there’s no need to act so uptight.”

Itachi somehow doesn’t find that comforting. 

The air is cold and biting when he steps out of the car. He shivers, crossing his arms over his stomach. “It’s freezing, Sasuke. Why did you make me wear this when it’s so cold?”

“Because the point is to dress like a whore,” Sasuke says, “and whores don’t wear jackets.” He slips his hand into Naruto’s.

Itachi shivers again as his response.

“If you’re that cold, then find something to warm you up,” Sasuke leers, tugging Naruto closer to him, ignoring the way Itachi’s face pinches at the implication.

Naruto has pity on him, though, sending him a cheery smile that spans his whole face. “Alcohol will make you warm, Itachi! We’ll get a few drinks.” He reaches out and loops his arm around Itachi’s. “And if you’re still too cold, you can cuddle me for warmth!”

Sasuke yanks on Naruto’s arm, pressing against his side, and glares over him at Itachi. “No, you can’t. Get your own boyfriend slash space heater, aniki.”

Naruto _is_ radiating heat like the back of a PS5, and Itachi plans to huddle near them both to keep warm and because he feels entirely out of his element.

The mask ends up being oddly comforting. The sense of anonymity makes him feel safe, gives him a sense of privacy. The endless whirl of color around him is dreamlike, the sequins on masks and glitter on bare chests almost hypnotic with the way the light catches them. The music is some type of loud, gritty, erotic rock, moaning more than singing, and Itachi can feel it in his chest. Fog machines in the corners of the courtyard seep coiling smoke all over the floor, curling around Itachi’s ankles, wisping away where people dance. 

All of it, the overwhelming noise and colors and lights, the sensations of freezing air and hot bodies—it starts to take Itachi’s breath away. It’s the only reason he doesn’t react when a stranger slinks passed him and runs their hand through his hair. It’s the only reason, a few seconds after the fact, his heart starts to beat faster.

Before he knows it, Naruto is pressing a glass to his lips. He lets Naruto pour liquor down his throat—it’s bright blue, vaguely citrusy, and seems exactly like something Naruto would order—and stares at him with wide eyes.

Naruto grins and pulls the drink back to his own mouth. The kitsune mask covering the top of his face does nothing to hide his shining eyes. “Good, right?” he yells over the song. “You can’t even taste the alcohol!”

Itachi definitely can.

Naruto hangs on Itachi’s arm, forcing him to drink half of whatever he orders, and chatters on in Itachi’s ear. He’s rating all of the masks they see—“I like the ones with feathers the best!”—when a woman approaches them. 

She’s wearing a black corset and a flowing skirt, long blonde hair billowing out from behind a glittery purple mask. Her smile is coy and sweet.

“Hi, there,” she says. “Would you like to dance?”

“The blonde is taken,” Sasuke interjects unhelpfully, taking a swig of his drink, “but the other one is all yours.”

Itachi wrinkles his nose as Naruto nudges him forward. “I will have to decline,” he says, “but thank you.”

She looks disappointed, but doesn’t press the issue, and instead disappears back into the mass of dancing bodies, swaying together like a kelp forest.

“Why did you say no?” Naruto cries next to him. “She was really pretty!”

Itachi blinks at him. “I—she—” Itachi swallows. His cheeks feel hot, breath quick in this throat and chest. He feels—loose, like the movements of his body are lagging behind his thoughts. “Naruto, that I’m gay. You—you know that.”

“Oh.” Naruto scratches his cheek where the edge of his mask ends, looking like he genuinely hadn’t considered that. “Okay well—let’s find you a guy!”

“That’s not necessary,” Itachi tries to protest. He doesn’t want to talk about men right now. He does not at _all_ want to think about the type of men he is into, and why he is into them, and how he is currently surrounded by them. Apparently all it takes is a drink or two to make him completely weak-willed; he should have known that denying himself endlessly would eventually come around to bite him, that his effortless control would someday stop being so effortless. 

“What’s your type, Itachi, huh? Older than you or younger?”

Itachi just shakes his head, grabbing the drink out of Naruto’s hand so he has an excuse not to answer.

“Taller? Shorter?” He grabs fistfuls of Itachi’s open shirt with both hands.

“Naruto—”

“You have to give me _something.”_

“I don’t.”

“Long hair, short _—”_

“Curly hair,” Itachi blurts. “I like curly hair.”

Naruto’s eyes light up, blue like the sky and brimming with excitement. “Okay! I can work with that! Now when it comes to body type—”

Sasuke sighs audibly, looking at then over the brim of his glass. “Naruto, enough. Itachi is a lost cause.” He rattles the lumps of melted ice in the bottom of his glass. “Babe, can you go get us a couple more?”

Naruto looks over at him before breaking into a brilliant smile. “Sure!” He agrees easily, letting go of Itachi’s shirt without a second thought. He kisses Sasuke’s cheek and then disappears back toward the bar.

Itachi gives his brother a relieved look. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” Sasuke’s facial expression is flat as he looks at him. “Shoo.”

Itachi blinks. “Pardon?”

“I want to suck on Naruto’s face and you’re distracting him. _Shoo_.”

“It’s not my fault he likes spending time with me more than he likes spending time with you.”

Sasuke glowers. “Watch the jokes, big brother. I can and will beat your ass.”

Itachi isn’t sure about that. “You dragged me all the way here and you are going to abandon me?”

“You’re so dramatic.” Sasuke abruptly shoves at him. “Just go have _fun_ , Itachi. Loosen up! You’ll be _fine_.”

“You’re abandoning your only brother.”

Sasuke just rolls his eyes.

And so that is how Itachi finds himself alone at a masquerade full of half-naked people.

His arms are still crossed over his stomach.

He leans up against a post on the outside of the courtyard and watches everyone else moving about. Some people are standing or sitting about, chatting and drinking. Of course there’s a mass of people dancing in the center, swaying and grinding to the bassline of the music. Some are just—grabbing and groping and kissing, touching each other as much as possible through the scraps of clothing they’re wearing.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the fact that it’s been a while, or his brother’s mocking, but something deep in Itachi’s gut wants hands all over him like that, just this once, just to remember what it feels like. His face is hot, cheeks red, and his rapid heartbeat leaves him breathless. The cold air pricks against his skin.

“You don’t just have to watch, you know.”

The voice comes from the left, from an absolute brute of a man. His shoulders are easily twice as wide as Itachi’s, and he’s at least a whole head taller than him. His mask is ugly, twisted into some sort of unsightly sea monster. His teeth, pointy and white, glisten from behind his sharp grin, and Itachi swallows just looking at him.

“Would you like to dance?” He’s polite despite his roguish exterior. He holds out one ring-covered hand, long fingers stretched out like a proverbial offering for Itachi.

“I’m not a good dancer,” Itachi hedges, eyeing the tattoos on the man’s knuckles.

“I’m a good teacher,” he answers.

The worst that can happen is that Itachi might make a complete fool out of himself, but he thinks that maybe he already is, what with his awkward huddling in the corner. So, before he can talk himself out of it, he accepts the man’s hand and is pulled into the sultry sea of dancing bodies.

It’s not quite dancing, at least not any type of dancing that he’s familiar with. The man pulls Itachi firmly against him, moves them together so they grind against each other. It’s just hands groping his chest and something hard pressed against the top of his ass, mind-numbing music, rhythmic moving. By the time the man swirls him around so their fronts are pressed together, he thinks he is going to pass out.

It’s entirely fun, though, and Itachi feels warm inside in a way he hasn’t indulged in for so _long_.

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, wrapped up in someone twice his size. Eventually he decides he needs _air_ , maybe cold water on his face, because he thinks that if he stays any longer he might get fucked in the middle of the dance floor with the way the other’s groping becomes greedier and greedier, and—well, he cannot give Sasuke that much ammo. He slips out of the man’s wistful hands, thanks him for showing him a good time, and leaves before he can be roped back in.

Itachi slithers out of the crowd, feeling the cool air seep back onto him now that he isn’t surrounded by warm bodies. He blinks through a mesmerizing swirl of sequined masks and billowing, colorful feathers, looking for the entrance to the theater. He tries to slip around two very occupied people and accidentally rams right into a hard back.

“Oh—!” He reaches out a mortified hand, trying to catch his balance, and sees the stranger’s drink go spilling onto the floor.

The man grabs him by the wrist, steadying him. “Woah, there. You good?”

Itachi stares at him. He is, not for the first time tonight, grateful that his cheeks are covered and the stranger cannot see the rising blush that is probably as red as his mask. He’s wearing shiny leather pants and completely shirtless spare a leather strap going over his shoulder and chest, banding around his arm. His mask has a beak like a crow, molded and coated with black feathers, and two curly horns spiral up toward the night sky. Curly black hair spills over the top.

His head leans closer to Itachi. “Are you okay?” His voice drops. “Are you tripping?”

A startled laugh leaves Itachi at the suggestion. “Oh—no, nothing like that. I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The stranger has not let go of his wrist. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“I’m sorry for spilling your drink,” Itachi prompts. “I can buy you another one.”

“That won’t be necessary at all.” His lips curl up into a crooked little grin, and he takes a step closer to Itachi.

Itachi just swallows. The stranger tilts his head, tightens his grip on Itachi’s arm.

The man seems to pick up on what Itachi is thinking. “I just want to make sure you’re not going to trip,” he answers the unasked question, “so I can’t let you go yet.”

“I’m steady, now.”

The man lets out a concerned hum, tapping his chin with one finger. “I don’t know. You’re too beautiful to take the risk, I think. We wouldn’t want you falling down and scratching anything.”

Itachi’s eyebrows go up his forehead. “Is that so?”

“Quite.” He takes another step forward. “I mean, just look at you, pretty boy,” he breathes. Itachi cannot even see his eyes clearly under the chaos of his mask.

“Pretty boy?” Itachi questions.

“Am I wrong?” the stranger asks, breaking out of his coy little smile and into a full grin.

Itachi stares at him for a moment. He doesn’t have a chance to answer before another shiver wracks his body.

“Cold?” he asks, thumb stroking over the protruding bump on Itachi’s wrist.

“A bit,” Itachi answers quietly. “Are you not, despite your…?” He trails off, looking pointedly at the man’s naked chest.

He shrugs his bare shoulders. “I can’t deny the people a good view,” he says, voice slick, before bringing one hand up to run through his curly hair. Itachi ignores the fluttering in his stomach. “Besides, I run hot. I never get all that cold.”

“Lucky.”

“Am I?” Why is his grin so _charming_? “Hm. Well, in that case, maybe I should share my good fortune.”

Itachi’s heart picks up in his chest, blood pumping with the newly familiar feeling of _wanting_ , reacting to the flirting. “And how do you plan to do that?”

He slides his hand from Itachi’s wrist to his elbow, taking yet another step closer. He’s close enough that Itachi could lift his hand up and touch his stomach, close enough that he could reach up and grab his curly hair.

“Well,” the man says, “you’re cold, I run hot. I think we can do something with that.”

Itachi tilts his head as if he is considering. “Are you offering to warm me up?” His mouth is running, now, saying things that he would otherwise find outrageous if he wasn’t feeling pleasantly loose.

“Maybe if you ask really nicely, I can think of something.”

“It doesn’t seem like I need to ask.”

The grin he gets is downright rapacious. 

Someone clears their throat next to them; Itachi hasn’t even noticed her until now, but the man (who still hasn’t let go of him) has a friend with him. She has pretty purple hair, layered white mask that reminds Itachi of origami.

The man turns his attention to her. “Could you get us a couple more drinks, pretty please?” He’s smiling innocently, all the sultry teasing completely dried up.

She sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “One for your new friend, too?”

Itachi shakes his head; his vision wobbles with it.

“You sure?” The man asks. “It’s on me.”

“I think I’ve drank enough tonight,” he replies, turning his head to look him in the eyes again. “I don’t want to go stumbling into people the rest of the night.”

He gets another grin. “I don’t want you stumbling into other people, either,” the man teases.

The woman looks between them both. Itachi can’t see her expression, of course, but he doubts that it’s amused. She shakes her head, standing up. “I’ll be right back. Be decent.”

“No promises,” her friend murmurs coyly. 

Itachi watches her leave, her backless purple dress shimmering with every step.

“She’s a pretty one, huh?” The man says.

Itachi nods. “She’s quite beautiful,” he replies honestly.

He’s still grinning, still rubbing that thumb against Itachi’s arm. “I can put in a good word with her, if you want.”

Itachi shakes his head. It’s the alcohol, he is _absolutely_ going to blame the alcohol (and not the sharp canines buried in the man’s grin or his wild curly hair) that prompts him to say, “I’m only interested in men, unfortunately.”

The man takes a breath, eyes flashing behind his mask, and he tugs him closer. “I’d say that’s the most fortunate news I’ve heard all night

Itachi’s heart flutters. “And why would that be?”

The man winds his other hand around, touching Itachi’s waist. “I happen to be a man; that means I get a chance, doesn’t it?”

Itachi instinctively put his hand out as he’s tugged closer, till their legs touch, and presses it against the masked man’s chest. It’s so _warm,_ and Itachi shifts. “Do I get to know the name of the man I’m giving a chance?”

“Oh, no,” the masked man croons, “we don’t exchange names here, pretty boy.” His hand trails down Itachi’s back. It tightens. “But I go by Crow.”

“Crow,” Itachi repeats, thumb sliding down the middle of the man’s chest.

“That sounds awfully good on your lips,” he answers, crooked smirk still on his face. The mask makes him look twice as predatory. “I bet you can say it even prettier.”

Itachi is almost shocked at how blatantly and openly the man flirts, how he doesn’t at all try to hid his innuendos, but then he remembers where he is, what people come here to do. If he doesn’t want things to— _continue_ down this route, he should leave now.

He doesn’t.

Crow is just so, so warm. 

There’s a ledge here, at the corner of the courtyard, made of old gray stone. Crow tugs him forward. “Come, pretty boy. Let me keep you warm.” He sits down, coaxes Itachi to sidle up next to him, and then abruptly pulls him down into his lap.

Itachi lets out a startled huff, going rigid against the stranger.

“Shh,” Crow murmurs in his ear, hand greedy on Itachi’s waist. “Relax.”

And so, perched on a half-naked stranger in the middle of a sultry masquerade, Itachi finally, _finally_ relaxes.

Crow slinks his arm around Itachi’s waist, securing him against his side. “You having fun here?”

“I suppose,” Itachi answers.

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic,” Crow says, pursing his lips. He eyes Itachi for a moment. “How can I make it better?”

Itachi slides a hand up Crow’s chest so he can press his palm to his neck. He just wants to know if his heart is beating that fast, too. “You’re making it better already.” It’s bold—worth it, though, because the man’s pulse thrums just a bit faster under his fingers. He incrementally tugs Itachi closer as they talk, and Itachi goes from sitting gingerly on his leg to being planted square in his lap. Crow’s hand has crept into his open shirt, now bare skin on bare skin, and his thumb continues to rub against the gentle arc of his ribs.

Crow’s friend comes back with a drink in each hand. She leans past Itachi to hand one of them off to the man, and the air around her smells like gardenia.

“This is my dear friend, uh…” He trails off, making eye contact. “You don’t have a name, huh? You’re not a regular.” He turns back to Itachi and winks from behind his mask. “You can call her…Paper.”

“Really Sh—Crow?” She says, sitting down across from them. She crosses one leg over the other. “I thought that you were supposed to be the creative one between us.”

Crow waves the hand holding his drink, as the other hand is fastened tightly around Itachi’s waist, and some of it sloshes out.

“Watch it,” she warns, “I’m not getting you another one.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases, “you used to be so nice to me. What happened?”

She doesn’t respond, adjusting her mask instead.

“You see that, pretty boy?” He jokes, grinning up at Itachi. “She doesn’t even reply to me. Isn’t that rude?”

Itachi sweeps some of his hair behind his shoulder. “It’s also rude to order her around.”

“Uh,” he says, squeezing Itachi’s waist, “I _asked_ her, thank you very much. I even said _pretty please_. What more do you want from me?”

Paper snorts and takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t let him sweet talk you,” she warns Itachi. “He seems nice, but it’s all an act.”

“No, no, hey,” Crow immediately interjects. “ _Definitely_ let me sweet talk you.”

He leans against the man’s chest. “I don’t know, I think I trust your friend more.”

“And yet you’re on my lap,” he replies with a grin.

Paper smiles over at them. “Would you like to trade?” She asks Itachi.

“ _Hey_!” Crow protests. “No! I saw him first—he’s mine.” He yanks on Itachi possessively, pressing his lips down to the top of his shoulder where his shirt has slipped off.

“You didn’t even give him a choice!” Paper switches her crossed legs.

The man groans, kissing Itachi’s skin again. “Fine. Pretty boy, would you rather sit on her lap?”

Itachi can’t help but smile; all the tension he felt earlier in the night is completely gone. “I’m quite happy with my seat, but thank you for the offer,” he replies.

Crow lets out a grunt, shifting his legs a bit. “Oh, pretty boy, if you want a _seat—”_

“Not in front of me,” she says, narrowing her eyes from under her mask.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll be _good_.”

Itachi’s stomach flutters. Without his permission, his mind considers _sitting_ on the man, and another shiver wracks his body.

“Still cold?” He murmurs. “And here I promised to warm you up.” He wraps both of his arms around Itachi’s partially exposed chest, and he rests his head on the top of his shoulder; the feathers of his mask tickle Itachi’s neck.

“What brought you here?” Paper asks. Her mask curls down on one side, cupping the side of her face. “This doesn’t seem like it’s exactly your scene.”

Itachi brings one hand up to curl around Crow’s forearm. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“Only barely,” Crow murmurs against his skin.

“Shush, you. You’re just trying to get on his good side.”

Crow snickers.

“My brother and his boyfriend brought me here,” Itachi explains. “So, no, not exactly my idea.”

“They not tell you what it was about?” Crow asks, lips still lingering on his shoulder.

Itachi leans back into him. “No, my brother just wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He signs and tries to rub his eyes, but he’s blocked by his mask. “There’s a big change happening with my work soon, and it’s been stressing me out. He wanted me to come here to unwind.”

Crow lets out a small, disgruntled groan underneath him. “I feel you. I’m switching jobs and I hear the new company I’m working for is _super_ uptight.”

Itachi wrinkles his nose, frowning down at the sidewalk.

The woman snorts after a moment. “Well, don’t talk about work if you both came here to escape from it.”

Crow changes the conversation easily, steering Itachi’s thoughts away from his stress. He keeps his arms around him, hands gently and slyly stroking his skin under his shirt.

It doesn’t take too long before Itachi is completely out of breath and nearly biting off the skin on the inside of his lip. It’s not because of the cold, or because of the alcohol, or any of the other reasons he had at the beginning; no, now he’s dizzy and hot because Crow definitely is hard in his pants, and it’s _definitely_ pressing right against the back of Itachi’s thigh. He has not been able to think about anything else for the past several minutes, Crow and Paper’s idle chatter droning on in the back of his mind while he fantasizes about what’s pressed into him.

Crow’s drink is empty. He watches the ice as it slowly melts; it’s a distraction, albeit a slow one. Maybe if he plucks the ice right out of the glass and presses it to his cheeks he will stop feeling so— _overstimulated_.

The strangest thing is that his head is clearing. The room isn’t swaying like it was, his vision has lost that blurry edge. His ears aren’t cottony and his movements aren’t lagging behind his thoughts. He’s almost completely sober again—and yet the _desire_ he has felt all night hasn’t gone away with the rest of it. He physically can’t stop thinking about shoving a stranger’s dick all the way down the back of his throat, and he can’t even blame the alcohol anymore.

He focuses on Crow’s thumb, stroking soothing lines against his stomach, and Paper’s voice. The man shifts a few times under him, sending Itachi’s thoughts into a frenzy each time.

It isn’t like it matters, right? He’s wearing a mask; no one here knows who he is, and he doesn’t know anyone else, either. Hell, he doesn’t even know the man’s _name._ They could meet in a grocery store the next week and neither of them would ever have any idea. He can sit here and sit on this stupidly attractive, random man’s dick and it will be like it didn’t even happen the next day.

He is watching the lights shift from red, to blue, to purple when feels the scrape of fake feathers aginst his neck and cheek, and the a warm voice is in his ear. “Hey, pretty boy.”

Itachi turns his head just slightly.

“Do you want to go somewhere more…private?”

Itachi can’t speak for a moment.

Crow continues, “I know a place where it can be just us. I can warm you up a lot more, if you’re still feeling cold.”

Itachi hasn’t noticed the cold in quite sometime, but he isn’t about to say that. “Is that a promise?”

Crow shudders underneath of him. “Don’t tease me right now.”

“Why not?” His voice is quiet to match the other’s.

Crow lets out a breath. “Because you have been sitting on me for the last hour and it is taking every bit of my self-control to keep still right now.”

Something pleasant thrills inside Itachi at his words.

“I bet you would fit so fucking perfect around my cock,” Crow breathes, nudging his lips against Itachi’s neck, “slide down on it like you were made for it.”

Itachi’s fingers curl into claws around the man’s forearm.

“If you want,” he continues quietly, “if it sounds fun to you too, I promise you won’t regret it.”

God does Itachi fucking _want it_.

“Yes,” Itachi murmurs, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Crow is up in a second—Itachi doesn’t go tumbling to the ground only because Crow’s arms keep Itachi locked against him. “Paper,” he rasps, and then he clears his throat. “You’ll have to entertain yourself for the rest of the evening.”

She waves a delicate hand, already looking disinterested in them.

The next thing Itachi knows, he’s being whirled through the courtyard again. Crow’s fingers have wound between his as he tugs him along the edge of the theater.

“Are we leaving?” Itachi asks breathlessly.

The man’s hand tightens around him. “No, beautiful. There’s a dressing room back here that’s always unlocked. It’s off to the side enough that no one comes back here.”

He takes them around to the back of the building. He’s right that there’s no one lingering back here to disturb them. There’s a door that’s, just as he said, unlocked. It opens into room that smells like old fabric, a dirty mirror resting against one wall and chests and wardrobes stacked across another. It’s lined with a velvet curtain on one side, an old, grand chair in the corner.

Itachi has never—hooked up with anyone anonymously before. He’s never decided to fuck someone who he has only just met, definitely not someone whose name he doesn’t even know. He isn’t sure what he is expecting.

He _isn’t_ expecting to be abruptly shoved to his knees. He isn’t expecting Crow to grab a handful of his hair and pull his head back to stare at him.

“God, you’re pretty.” It’s the only thing that he mutters before Itachi finds his cock pressed to his lips. “Suck.”

Itachi’s heart is racing. He brings one hand up to grab the base of it, feeling the tip of it slide against his lips as Crow nudges his hips forward. He shuts his brain off and opens his mouth; it’s heavy on his tongue, and then Crow is pushing forward and it starts to go into his throat.

He chokes, eyes squeezing closed, but he doesn’t pull back.

“Ah,” the man says in a breath, “you’re not used to this, huh?” His hand loosens just slightly around the fist of Itachi’s hair, lets Itachi pull off a little bit. “That’s fine, pretty boy. Just enjoy yourself.”

It’s _cocky_ , the way he says it, all smooth and like he is doing Itachi a favor by letting him such his dick.

Itachi does, though, enjoy it. His mouth is completely filled, one hand gripped onto his thigh and the other stroking the base of Crow’s dick. He bobs his head back and forth, saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth and making his lips slick.

The masked man hums little approvals at him, heavy breathing mingling with sultry praises. “You’re downright gorgeous with my cock in you,” he breathes. His back is pressed up against the wall, hips arched out, hand still sunk into Itachi’s hair.

Itachi’s eyes flick up at him, jaw aching; the man’s bare chest is rising and falling with his deep breaths, mouth partly open with a pleasured little smirk, and the rest of his face is a mess of black feathers and spiraling horns and wild curly hair.

The coiling feeling in Itachi’s gut starts to ache, his irritatingly tight pants pressing uncomfortably against his erection. 

He can’t keep track of how long he blows him, not after he gets into a rhythm of sucking and licking and moving his head; he measures how well he is doing from Crow’s grip in his hair and his muttered praises of _good,_ figures he’s doing a decent job if the ache in his knees and jaw and own dick are anything to go by.

“Get up,” the man grunts suddenly, tugging on Itachi’s hair.

Itachi lets his dick slide out of his mouth, the tip of it still resting on his bottom lip.

Crow is digging something out of his pants as he says, “clothes off. All of them.”

Itachi pushes up to his feet, knees throbbing, and starts to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. His partner pulls a couple of packets out of his pants pockets, tearing them apart with his teeth, while Itachi gets naked.

“Hands on the wall,” he orders, drizzling lube from one of the silver wrappers onto his fingers.

“Aren’t you going to finish undressing?”

“Nah,” he whispers, coming up behind Itachi and grabbing his ass with his dry hand, “it’s hotter this way.”

The first finger is just uncomfortable, and Itachi presses his hands against the faded red wallpaper to ground himself. The second finger makes him groan, head falling forward, hair swaying around his face. Crow starts to thrust his fingers, moving them around more, fingering him properly. The third finger takes the breath right out of his lungs, and he doesn’t realize he’s pushing back on the man’s fingers until he hears Crow groan behind him.

Itachi can’t stop the babble of noises falling out of his mouth. Crow is kissing the back of his shoulder and murmuring how tight he is, how much he can’t wait to get inside of him.

He thrusts both of his fingers a bit more roughly. “Look at you—prettiest thing I have ever seen and you’re going to let me fuck you like a dirty whore, aren’t you?”

Itachi’s drooling. He’s being fingered by a stranger against a wall and being called a whore and it feels so good that he’s _drooling._

“You’re falling apart,” the man prods, pressing against him from the inside. He hits him _there,_ sending white hot sparks throughout Itachi’s body, and Itachi pushes back on him. “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re falling apart.”

“Fuck me, then,” Itachi says.

All he hears behind him is a growl. Crow’s fingers leave him, and Itachi twists around to see him roll a condom down the length of his cock. Crow’s hands grasp each side of his hips, squeezing, and then they shift to his ass cheeks, spreading him open.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

Crow doesn’t give him anymore warning before he’s sliding inside of him. He pushes all the way forward with one movement, until Itachi feels thighs against the back of his own. His mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut.

It’s so fucking much, enough to make his head spin, and he tries to remind himself to stay relaxed.

Crow is rubbing that soothing thumb against his skin again. “Are you okay, beautiful?”

Itachi takes a breath, steadying himself. He nods. “Yes. Move.”

He pulls out about half way before thrusting his hips forward. Itachi makes a noise in the back of his throat, fingers clawing up on the wall; the man’s pushes forward in steady, rhythmic movements, using his grip on Itachi’s hips to draw him back and meet him halfway.

He presses up against Itachi’s body, hands groping him all over his chest, legs, and arms, pulling at his hair and scratching over his ass. Crow is _vocal_ , babbling all sorts of nonsense, tangled sentences of praise and curses.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans behind him. Itachi feels feathers pressing into his neck. “You feel so good it’s stupid.”

Itachi doesn’t reply, just feels the rock of his body as the man shoves against him. He fucks into him with a greedy kind of possessiveness, rough and harsh and _deep_.

 _This_ is what Itachi’s been craving all night. The feeling of being completely wanted and desired, completely claimed, the feeling of making someone feel so good they can’t think straight.

Itachi drags one hand down the wall and grabs his own dick. He slides his fingers along himself and presses his forehead against his forearm, braced against the wall, and lets all the stupid noises bubble up from his gut and spill over his lips. He’s hot and warm and _full,_ and Crow’s hands on him make him feel so _wanted_. The heat in his belly spirals and twists and tightens; just as he feels like he’s about to spill over the edge, the man stops moving, and then he’s suddenly empty.

“C-crow?” he croaks. He feels sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He pushes himself backward, heart hammering.

Crow spins him around, one hand roaming across his chest. “I want you to ride me,” he breathes, tugging him backwards. “I want you to work for it, pretty boy.”

Itachi stumbles after him toward the wide velvet chair in the corner. Crow collapses into it, legs spread wide. He’s still wearing his pants, opened just enough for his cock to stick out lewdly. He shimmies his hips down, strokes himself a few times, thumb pressing against the tip.

Itachi crawls forward, straddling the man’s legs. He lets himself be manhandled, positioned and pulled forward, hands groping him along the way, before Crow pushes his hips to meet the tip of his cock. Itachi sinks down, hands on Crow’s shoulders. The man _groans_ , fingers digging into Itachi’s waist, and his head falls back.

“Oh, _fuck_ yes.” He licks his lips, watching Itachi move. “Fuck, just like that.”

Itachi shudders, lifting himself up and pushing back down. He’s already _right_ on the edge.

“What did I tell you? You fit on my cock like you were fucking _made_ for it. You don’t even know me and you were made to fit around my dick. Can you believe that?”

Itachi’s fingers clench on the top of his shoulders. He stutters in his movements, the man’s words making dizzy with pleasure.

“I’ve never seen anything as pretty as you riding me.” He uses one hand to press against one of Itachi’s nipples. The other snakes down, fingers curling around Itachi’s dick. He strokes slowly. “You love it, don’t you? You can’t get enough of this, throwing yourself down on my cock.”

Itachi’s just trembling, now. “I’m—Crow, I’m going to—”

“Not until you say you love it,” Crow insists, fingers slowing to a stop and tightening. “Say you love fucking yourself on my cock, and I’ll help you cum, pretty boy.”

Itachi presses himself all the way down. Crow’s cock is far enough inside him that his eyes are rolling into the back of his head. He rocks his hips, grinding himself down into the masked mans lap so that _that_ place sparks. Crow fucks up with his hips, helping his movements, shoving himself just deep enough that Itachi is just a moaning mess.

“You like that, hm? Say it.”

Itachi bites his lips, cheeks flaming. He stares forward, trying to see him through the mask, but he’s hidden behind the mess of crow’s feathers.

“Say it, beautiful,” he presses.

Itachi swallows. “I like it,” he breathes, reaching forward. His hands trail the man’s neck. He slides his fingers up to his lips, tracing the plumpness of the bottom one, pressing against how _warm_ they are; they grin under his fingertips.

“What do you like?”

“The way you fuck me.” His eyelids flutter as he rocks his hips again. “I like the way you fuck me.” It’s humiliating to admit, but then Crow is thrusting up and jerking him off again, and Itachi’s vision goes white and warm. He gasps, curling forward into his partner, nails clawing at his skin. He slumps forward; Crow fucks up into him, short jerks of his hips, and then he’s scratching and mumbling curses and groaning.

He finally stills. Itachi’s come down leaves him trembling and gasping in the man’s lap.

“Shh,” Crow murmurs, stroking his hands down Itachi’s back. “Shh, pretty boy, just breathe.” He’s breathless himself, but it doesn’t stop him from mumbling reassurances in Itachi’s ear. “Are you okay?”

Itachi hums, head swimming. “I feel so good,” he sighs.

The man laughs gently underneath him. “I’m glad.” He strokes Itachi’s hair, adjusting him so he fits better in his lap. “Sorry about—” his voice is bashful all of the sudden. “Sorry about the dirty talk. I didn’t ask if you—wanted that.”

“What?” Itachi doesn’t want to talk for a few more minutes.

“I called you a dirty whore,” the man blurts. “Sorry. Just got carried away.”

Itachi snorts. “It’s fine,” he reassures, shifting more comfortably in Crow’s arms. “It was good.”

“Oh.” His hand stills on Itachi’s hair. “Oh, good. That’s good.”

Itachi huffs, his breaths slowing in his chest. Crow’s awkward attitude all of the sudden, especially in contrast to his demure flirting is—well, cute, Itachi thinks. He buries his face into Crow’s neck. His sweat is cooling on his back, but the skin against his lips, the arms around his back and the gentle hand stroking soothing lines down his hair all keep him warm. The man feels like sitting next to a fireplace, and Itachi wants to snuggle into his lap until the afterglow wears off.

They are quiet for several minutes, just cuddling, Crow kissing the top of Itachi’s head. Itachi doesn’t mind the quiet, but apparently Crow wants to fill the empty space. 

“Do you think the nickname is dumb?”

Itachi opens his eyes and blinks without pulling away. “Pardon?”

“The nickname thing. ‘Crow.’ Is it stupid? I got it because of the mask, obviously. The feathers, right? It feels kind of underwhelming.”

Itachi hums, shifting in the man’s arms to get closer. “I think it’s fine.”

“Yeah? Just fine?”

“I mean,” Itachi murmurs, pressing his cheek into skin, feeling the blood still rushing, “do you have other options?”

“I was thinking about Cernunnos.”

Itachi has to pull back at that so he can look at him. “Cer—what?”

The mask twitches up on his face as he wrinkles his nose. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” His voice turns dejected. “I knew it wasn’t any better.”

“I didn’t say that,” Itachi tries to reassure. “What does it mean?”

“Cernunnos is an unnamed horned god in—Celtic culture, I’m pretty sure. He’s mischievous, so I’ve been told. I just figured, ya know, maybe it’s time to move on from the feathers and focus on the horns. You know. ‘Cuz I’m more horny than feathery, right?”

Itachi blinks at him, quiet for a moment, and then he starts laughing.

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not,” Itachi says around his smile. He places both his hands on either side of Crow’s face. “I’m honestly not. It’s very charming that you know all of that.”

Crow’s face lights up with a smile. “Charming, huh? I don’t think I’ve been called that before.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I guess I’m just good at charming you in particular, then.”

Itachi’s eyes are fixated on his lips. They’re full, flushed from exertion, parted and shiny. Without thinking about it, Itachi leans down to kiss him.

The beak of Crow’s mask bumps into his own, blocking him from pressing their lips together. He shifts just slightly, but it’s too bulky to get in close without taking it off. He ducks his head, embarrassed at his failed attempt.

“The masks can get annoying, huh?” Crow says. If Itachi didn’t know better, he would say that his voice sounded strained. “Maybe I should get a brand new one for a better nickname.”

Itachi hums, skimming his fingers over the shiny black feathers. “No, I don’t think so.”

He reaches up and catches Itachi’s hand so he can pull his knuckles to his lips. “You like it?” He asks in between the kisses he lays there.

“I like it,” Itachi murmurs, smiling a little. He traces the curves of the mask’s horn with his index finger. “It’s looks good on you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head. “It’s…alluring.”

“Oh?” His grin widens, and he tugs Itachi forward. “You think I’m alluring, do you?”

“I surely didn’t fuck you because I think you’re ugly.”

Crow looks giddy, at least from what Itachi can see of him. “Is that so?”

Itachi raises an eyebrow. “You must be aware of what you look like. I doubt that I’m saying anything you don’t already know.”

He shrugs a shoulder, fingers moving idly over Itachi’s skin where his hand rests. “Maybe so. Still, charming _and_ alluring. You have no idea how that feels coming from you.” One of his hands lifts up, the back of his knuckles brushing against Itachi’s exposed cheek. “You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Itachi snorts; he leans against the man’s hand, though, savoring the affection. “Absurd. You can barely see me.”

Crow stiffens slightly at his words, fingers stilling. The grin slips off his lips, the line of his mouth turning serious. The hand on Itachi’s face drifts to the edge of his mask. It lingers there for a moment. Then, one finger slips underneath. His other hand moves to the opposite side of Itachi’s mask, fingers pinching the border. He pauses there, completely still, the sparkle of his eyes dimmed under his own mask.

It would be so easy for him to slip it off of Itachi’s face. Just a gentle tug and he can push it up, just a flick of his wrist and Itachi will be completely bare to him.

Itachi doesn’t even try to stop him.

When Crow speaks again, it sounds like there’s a lump in his throat. “Well, still,” he says eventually, hands falling away from Itachi’s face. “I can just tell that you’re a beauty.”

Itachi ignores the disappointment in his stomach. “You flatter me.”

“I can do much more,” Crow assures, lips twitching back into a small little smile. “I can be downright irritating with my compliments, if you want me to be.”

Itachi wants to say—something. He isn’t sure what, he has no idea what he is looking for. There’s just something _about_ this man, something that, despite Itachi’s intentions, feels like it should last beyond just having sex—

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of drunken laughing outside of the door.

“Shit,” Crow mutters, abruptly sitting up in the chair, hands holding Itachi against him. It’s almost protective.

Itachi looks over to the door. “Is someone—”

Crow hisses. “Of _course_ someone has to interrupt us. These parties can get so damn irritating when drunk people don’t know how to act.” He lets Itachi go. “Quick, get dressed, before some dumbass barges in.”

Itachi leaves the warmth of his lap, swiftly grabbing his pants off of the floor and pulling them up his legs. He straightens up and finds Crow immediately sliding his shirt over his arms.

“Thanks,” Itachi murmurs, fingers fiddling with the bottom buttons.

Crow pauses, both his hands cupping Itachi’s face. “No, pretty boy, thank _you_. You made my night—exceedingly fun.”

Before Itachi can respond, two drunken girls stumble into the room, hanging onto each other.

“Oops,” one giggles, pressing her hand to her mouth. “We didn’t know someone was already here.”

Crow steps away from Itachi, sweeping his arm out. “No, no, ladies. The room is all yours. Have fun,” he sing-songs, nudging Itachi out of the room.

The air outside is cold. Itachi shivers again, and he wants to press himself back into the man’s side.

“You see those two double doors?” Crow says, pointing them out. “Go through there and you’ll find the bathroom, if you want to get cleaned up.”

Itachi nods, still trying to button up the bottom of his shirt. He feels—surprised that Crow seems to be shooing him away so quickly, and was half expecting them to go back to the courtyard together. That’s just him being dumb, though, because this was always only ever going to be a one night stand, and it isn’t Crow’s fault that he apparently he can’t spend a few minutes snuggling without his thoughts going haywire.

The man turns to him and takes his hand. He bends over, all theatrics, and presses a kiss to the back of it. He sends Itachi a charming grin and heads back toward the courtyard.

Itachi finds the bathroom easily. It’s thankfully empty, so he takes off his mask to wipe down his face with a wet paper towel. He barely recognizes himself with his red cheeks and wide-blown pupils and hurries to put it back on.

By the time Sasuke finds him its well into the morning. Itachi has not been paying attention to the clock, and Sasuke towers over him, anger pinching his eyebrows and pulling his lip up.

“What’s your deal making me worried?! Jesus, Itachi, I’ve been trying to find you for like half an hour!”

“Sorry,” Itachi murmurs, wide eyed. “I’m fine, Sasuke. I didn’t know you were looking for me.”

Sasuke eyes him critically. Naruto is half asleep slumped over his back, face smooshed in between Sasuke’s shoulder and neck, thick arms looped loosely around Sasuke’s waist.

“What have you been doing this whole time?” Sasuke asks, looking suspicious.

Itachi doesn’t dare tell Sasuke all the details. “I just—danced with someone, and drank in the courtyard. Relaxed—just like you told me, right?”

Sasuke eyes him for several seconds, that dark, scrutinizing gaze trying to pry the truth right out of him though. “Alright, then,” he says slowly.

“Sasu-ke,” Naruto slurs. “I’m tired.”

“No shit.”

“Take me home,” he whines, nuzzling down on Sasuke’s shoulder.

“Blame Itachi! It’s his fault we haven’t left yet.”

Itachi offers to pay for the uber home to appease them both. They’re all quiet in the ride back, tucked into the backseat of the dark car. Naruto slumps over into Sasuke’s arms, and Itachi pretends not to notice the way his brother cradles him, kissing his blonde hair.

His thumb rubs circles against Naruto’s arm, and Itachi has to direct his gaze firmly out the window.

He wonders how long it will take for him to see crows the same way again.

\--

If there’s anything that flaunts unnecessary wealth, it is the Uchiha’s house during the annual company Christmas party. Their dining room and foyer open up into one stupidly grand room, chandelier hanging from the ceiling, towering Christmas tree looming in one corner. It’s excessively but tastefully decorated, flocked garlands and gold ribbons winding up the staircase and outlining the doorways. Ornate towers of Christmas boxes are stacked around the tree, icicles hanging from shelves. Glittering crystal vases hold poinsettias in every corner. 

Itachi frowns as he runs his finger over a golden decoration his mother has hung over the back of a chair. “How many people are coming, again?” It’s usually only the cream of the crop of the corporation, only the best executives or most outstanding workers. The table stretches longer than it has in previous years, each place setting full of porcelain dishes and dainty silver spoons.

“Oh, just the usual,” Mikoto assures. She pats his arms as she whirls by with two wine glasses in one hand. “Your father and his associates, a few of the investors, a couple of project managers like yourself.” She smiles at him. “Of course, everyone has a plus one.”

“Right,” Itachi says. He is well aware that it is a pointed comment since he has not brought a date in years. It isn’t _his_ fault that Sasuke just happened to find his soulmate when he was still in high school.

He adjusts a crooked soup spoon on its gold napkin.

“Oh!” Mikoto taps her finger to her lips. “Did you father already tell you? Your new partner is going to be here, too!”

Itachi raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes! Since your upcoming project is so important, your father wanted to introduce him to the company in a warm way.” She sets each wine glass down where they belong. “He is supposed to be a very incredible worker.”

“I heard,” Itachi murmurs. “He worked with the Senju before transferring.”

“Very prestigious,” Mikoto agrees in a proud voice. “There could be no one less worthy of working with my son. I’m sure the two of you will accomplish amazing things together.”

Itachi brushes off the praise. “If Father hired him, I have no doubt that he is very fit for the job.”

Mikoto nods thoughtfully, looking down at two napkin rings. “Itachi, do you think we should go with the silver or clear ones?”

Itachi does not care. “Clear.”

“Great! Go ahead and set these out, dear.”

They’re interrupted by a fiddling at the front door, and then Sasuke stumbles inside. Naruto stands behind him, hand in Sasuke’s, grinning and blushing and clearly disheveled. Sasuke’s tie is crooked.

Itachi sighs.

“Don’t sigh at me,” Sasuke glowers. He tugs Naruto after him.

“You were supposed to be here over an hour ago,” Itachi says, folding a napkin. “I have been doing all of this set up alone with Mom.”

“And? Are you saying that you don’t like spending time with our beloved mother, Itachi?”

“He is doing no such thing,” Mikoto sniffs, reentering the room from the kitchen. She has a glass pitcher in her hands. “Itachi and I are great decorating buddies.”

“I wonder why Itachi is good at that,” Sasuke mutters snidely under his breath.

Itachi blinks at him. “You just had sex with your boyfriend in the backyard and you’re going to make gay jokes about _me_?”

“No bickering!” Mikoto commands. She sets the pitcher down on a table up against the wall. “Sasuke, Naruto, help us finish getting ready. Guests are going to start arriving soon!”

Naruto is cheery as always. “We would love to help, Mrs. Uchiha!”

“Oh, Naruto,” she replies fondly. “I told you to call me Mikoto!”

“Or you can just skip to ‘mom,’ if you want,” Itachi says mildly.

Sasuke whips his head around to glare at him.

Mikoto harasses them into cooperation. They finish setting things up in plenty of time and end up sprawled across the couch waiting for all of the guests to arrive. Itachi watches Sasuke throw chocolate chips across the room and into Naruto’s mouth until they hear the first knock on the door.

Itachi helps his father greet their guests; he recognizes most of them from previous years, and quickly slips into the mindless state of entertaining work guests. One of them almost immediately ropes him into an uninteresting conversation, and he sips on champagne and pretends to listen as everyone finishes arriving.

Itachi spots his new coworker from across the room as he enters. He’s wearing an ashy green button down, charcoal grey slacks and matching tie. His hair is curly; it’s just wild enough that it tickles the back of Itachi’s mind, but he doesn’t pay enough attention to it to _scratch_ at why it seems familiar.

Dinner is as it always is. Everyone laughs at Fugaku’s jokes no matter how bland they are. Itachi makes the bare minimum amount of small talk to not appear impolite as he picks at the food on his plate. Naruto eats enough for three grown men and Sasuke makes moon eyes at him for it. It’s followed by more menial conversations that Itachi isn’t particularly interested in, but he’s a good employee and an even better son, so he holds them gracefully and politely. 

He’s standing with Naruto, who is guessing who would get coal in their stocking and why, when his father grabs his attention.

“Ah, Itachi,” Fugaku calls in that needlessly commanding voice. “Come meet your new business partner.”

Itachi pushes himself away from the wall, muttering something under his breath, and makes his way to his father. Shisui, Itachi recalls, is standing next to him. His expression is open, friendly, as he holds a hand out for Itachi to shake.

Itachi takes it easily, shaking it once. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shisui.”

The moment the words leaves his lips, Shisui’s hand stiffens in his. His eyes blow wide, mouth falling open.

Itachi blinks at him, unsure where the change came from.

After a beat, Shisui says. “It’s you.”

Itachi tilts his head, reluctant, uncomfortable under Shisui’s stare. “Pardon?”

“…pretty boy.”

It’s as if hands have formed out of the floor beneath him and ripped Itachi down into the ground. Itachi feels his mouth fall open, and he hears the phrase ‘oh my god’ before he even realizes that _he’s_ the one saying it.

He isn’t sure if he should be more mortified at the fact that his father just reintroduced him to his one night stand, the fact that they’re still _holding hands_ in front of said father, or the fact that said father just heard Shisui call him _pretty boy._

He immediately yanks his hand back from Shisui’s grasp. Shisui keeps his hand suspended in mid air, and Itachi wants to yell at him to act normal. He can’t, though, since he hasn’t figured out how to take another breath yet.

Fugaku looks concerned, glancing between the two. “Is something the matter?”

Itachi doesn’t have a thought in his fucking head.

Shisui is laughing then, voice smooth, and it sounds so easy and pleasant that the tension in the air dissolves like sugar in sweet tea. “I can’t believe it! We’ve met before, Mr. Uchiha.” His smile is warm as can be. “A mutual friend introduced us in passing just a couple weeks ago.”

“Yes,” Itachi says, recovering, voice entirely too small, “what a coincidence. I should have made the connection when I heard your name, Shisui. Forgive me for not recognizing you sooner.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Itachi.”

“Ah,” Fugaku grunts, easing up completely. “Well, this is good. The two of you should be able to work together even better if you have already formed a rapport.”

Itachi nods in agreement.

Shisui just smiles.

“Very well then.” Fugaku places a hand on Itachi’s shoulder, patting it once.

It feels so goddam fucking heavy, the weight of all his dirty, raunchy sins resting with that hand, and Itachi truly wants nothing more than to sink through the floor and never see the light of day—or that fucking look in Shisui’s eyes—ever again.

“I will let the two of you catch up.”

Itachi does not beg for his father to stay, much as he would like that, and is left alone with Shisui. Shisui doesn’t take his eyes off of him once, not even to bid Fugaku farewell.

Itachi has never been preyed on by a barracuda before, but he thinks he gets the gist of what it feels like.

The room is technically full of people, but everything focuses down to just Itachi and the man that fucked him into the wall so hard Itachi still thinks he can feel it. Shisui opens his mouth to say something.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Itachi immediately rasps. He whirls away as quickly as he can, desperate to put space between him and Shisui. Shisui calls his name out after him, but Itachi ignores him, rushing to the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, doesn’t take the time to lock it, and braces himself against the white porcelain sink.

Okay. Okay, so maybe he had a one night stand with his new work associate. Maybe he is going to be in close contact with a man who has quite literally been inside him. Maybe he even let said man order and shove him around and call him a dirty whore.

It could be worse, right?

But, God, seeing Shisui, with his curly hair and charming grin, hearing his voice and feeling the way his hand was still burning from his touch, it was bringing back all the memories from that night. He had worked so hard to shove it all back and forget about it; as Sasuke would say, he was trying very hard to be _boring_ again. 

But now he is remembering the greedy way Crow’s— _Shisui’s_ —hands roamed over his skin. He’s remembering the dirty things Shisui grunted into his ear, the way his hips pushed up into him, the way his cock—

“Fuck,” Itachi breathes. He turns on the faucet and cups his hands under the water. He splashes his face a few times, trying to clear his head.

He isn’t sure whether or not he should feel humiliated or horny. Maybe both.

Maybe Shisui humiliating him a bit _makes_ him horny.

“Fuck!” He hisses a little more loudly.

He throws more water on his face. It doesn’t help much.

He considers drowning himself in the sink.

“The hell is wrong with you.”

Itachi fully _jumps_ at the noise.

“Jesus,” Sasuke says, nose wrinkling, “are you okay?”

Itachi wipes his hands off on a rag. “What exactly are you barging in on me for when I am in the bathroom?”

“Why the fuck are you in the bathroom without locking the door?”

Itachi just looks at him.

Sasuke closes the door behind him. The latch clicks.

Itachi’s head hangs again, his sigh deflating his body, hands braced on the sink.

“Woah,” Sasuke mumbles, coming up next to him. He presses his hand to the top of Itachi’s arm, leaning in; his voice and eyes are alike in their worry. “Aniki, what’s wrong?” He lifts his hand and rests it against Itachi’s forehead. “Are you feverish?”

Itachi blinks at the sink for a few times, and then looks over at Sasuke. Sasuke stands in the silence with him, waiting for him to say something, mouth pressed into a line. It’s only the genuine concern that shapes Sasuke’s expression that makes Itachi fess up.

“I fucked my new coworker,” he admits roughly.

Sasuke’s eyebrows go up his forehead. “Oh.” He pauses, forehead wrinkling a bit. “Already? How did you even have time for that.”

“Not—” Itachi groans. “Not _tonight_ , Sasuke. I met him on Friday.”

“Friday? What were you doing Friday?”

“Are you being purposefully dense to irritate me? The Friday you dragged me to that fucking—” he squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _Oh_.”

“Oh!” Itachi echoes, frustrated.

Sasuke just starts laughing.

“Not appreciated,” he mutters.

Sasuke grins over at him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “The one time you let loose.”

“Yes, I am aware of the irony.”

Sasuke snorts. “Why would you even fuck someone with the same name as your shiny new business partner? Not a very big-brained decision, Itachi.”

Itachi lets his eyes close. He taps his fingertips against the porcelain sink, swallows, wonders exactly how long Sasuke will hold this over his head. “We did not exchange names.”

“ _Jesus_ , Itachi!” He’s grinning again.

Itachi whips his head around to glare at him.

“I’m not judging you!” Sasuke defends, holding his hands up. “I just didn’t know that you had it in you to have a nameless hookup.”

Itachi straightens up from the sink. “I didn’t either,” he sighs, “and now I realize why that is such an awful idea.”

“To be fair, aniki, this could only happen to you.”

“Extremely comforting.”

Sasuke just laughs at him again. Itachi can’t even protest.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a second. The effect of the cold water has faded, and his cheeks are flushed again. After a moment of silence, he looks back to his brother.

“How am I supposed to work with someone that has seen my asshole.”

Sasuke stares. “I—” his mouth hangs open for a second, and then he closes it. “I truly do not know how the fuck to respond to that.”

“This is your fault, too! You’re the one telling me to— _let loose_.”

Blinking at him, Sasuke replies, “You have to know that I didn’t mean for you to do all this.”

Itachi glowers. “I just—the project I’m working on is a very big deal, and I’ve already been worried about having to manage it with a partner. This is an added layer of stress and complication I really just didn’t need.” He lets out a sigh, shoulders dropping as he says it.

“Aniki, listen—” Sasuke flounders for a second. “People screw their coworkers all the time. It might be a little awkward at first, but if you don’t make a big deal out of it, I guarantee you that Shisui won’t, either.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything.

“I _mean it_. The guy has to know how big of an opportunity this is for him. I don’t care if he was working with the Senju’s, this is a way more elite position. He would be a complete dumbass to ruin it, and you know how Dad feels about hiring dumbasses.”

Itachi does not tell Sasuke that, if he is being completely honest with himself, he is less concerned with Shisui’s capability of being professional and more with the strength of his own will. Shisui is—striking, curly hair and a broad nose and beautiful eyes. Itachi is already well acquainted with his body and how he uses it, and there’s no question that Itachi is putty in his warm, broad hands.

It’s not just that, though, because it has taken Itachi almost the entirety of these past two weeks to stamp down the feeling that he wanted to stay in Shisui’s lap just a bit longer that night. He has tried very hard to convince himself that the way Shisui touched him and spoke to him was nothing other than feral and horny. Shisui broke this emotional dam he didn’t even know he had, and the feelings of desire and being desired, the warmth of intimacy—those were still lingering in Itachi.

Sasuke is still offering clumsy reassurances. “Just—avoid him the rest of the night, and once you’re at the office working together it won’t seem so awkward. I’m sure it will be easy to get a working relationship set straight.”

Itachi smiles, face and heart softening at how Sasuke is trying to comfort him. “My sweetest little brother,” he murmurs fondly.

“Ew.” Sasuke wrinkles his nose, stepping away. “Never say that again.”

“Aw, come on,” he teases, lifting his hand up, “you _are_ my sweetest little brother.”

“I am not sweet.”

“But you are my brother!” He tries to press his fingers against Sasuke’s forehead.

Sasuke swats his hand away. “Only because I didn’t have a choice.”

“You don’t mean that.” He reaches out again. “Let me poke you!”

“Fuck off, I hate that shit!”

“No you don’t.”

“I’m never helping you again!” Sasuke says as he escapes and darts out of the bathroom.

Itachi laughs quietly to himself, watching Sasuke leave. He returns to the party a minute later after smoothing out his shirt and finger combing his curtain bangs.

He goes to his father’s side. He does think it’s best to avoid Shisui tonight, at least, and it never hurts to put on a show in front of his dad and get on his good side. Sasuke lightened his mood and made him feel better, and before long Itachi has almost completely forgotten about his stress.

The only downside is the conversations are so _boring._ His father really cannot think of another single things besides work. Itachi wants to tell him that being more personable with his employees and executives will improve overall atmosphere and moral, but it’s been long since Fugaku ever listened to his advice.

Under any other circumstance, Itachi would be thankful for someone interrupting the boring flow of the evening.

Shisui, however, is not that circumstance.

“Itachi,” Shisui says warmly, coming right up next to him, “forgive me for talking about work off the clock, but I was mulling over the project we will be working on together last night and I have some ideas I think will really interest you.”

Itachi avoids looking at him. “Ah, how helpful,” he replies. “I’m sure it can wait until Monday, though, when we are at the office.”

“Nonsense!” Fugaku says with gusto. “There’s never any harm in working a little overtime.”

“Never?” Itachi says weakly.

“What can I say,” Shisui speaks over him, “I love my job.”

Fugaku gives a hearty chuckle and pats Shisui’s shoulder. “I have a feeling you and Itachi are going to work together wonderfully.”

Shisui’s eyes are sharp. “I have a similar feeling.”

“Itachi,” Fugaku says, “you and Shisui should talk about his ideas while they are still fresh in his mind.”

Itachi clears his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone enjoying the night with work related talk.”

Fugaku hums. “Fair.” He looks like he’s thinking for a second, and then his face lights up. “Your bedroom will be awfully quiet right about now! Go upstairs and hammer a few things out.”

“Bedroom?” Itachi says, dizzy. _Hammer?_

“That sounds like a great idea!” Shisui exclaims brightly. He reaches out and grabs Itachi’s wrist.

Fugaku seems satisfied with their eagerness to work, so he lets himself be distracted by a server passing by with coconut shrimp.

Once again Itachi is pinned to the floor with Shisui’s hands on him.

“Your father said something about a bedroom?” Shisui prompts.

The walk up the stairs is quiet, though Shisui’s hand remains on Itachi’s arm. Itachi’s brain starts to sprint, so unfortunately he can only think about Shisui pushing him to his knees the second the door closes like he did before.

“Which door?” Shisui asks casually.

“Second on the left,” Itachi replies breathily.

Shisui does not push him to his knees when the door closes; he does, however, shove Itachi against the door, hands on either side of his shoulders.

“You!” Shisui exclaims, shoving Itachi up against the door.

“Me,” Itachi mumbles, almost completely breathless. His eyes are blown wide, lungs punched in, as Shisui towers over him.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Shisui is grinning like the Cheshire cat himself, and Itachi suddenly feels like a very, very cornered canary.

“I’m going to tell my father that you cannot be my associate,” Itachi blurts.

“Oh?” Shisui doesn’t look phased in the least. “And why is that?”

“I do not think that we will be able to maintain a professional work environment,” Itachi says in a clearer voice.

“Uh-huh.” Shisui licks the inside of his lips. Itachi watches the movement. “You think we are going to get up to something ‘unprofessional’ if we work together?”

“You are currently sliding your hand up my shirt,” Itachi answers.

Shisui has already untucked Itachi’s shirt from the left side of his pants, fingers curling around the curve of his hip bone. “And do you have a problem with that?”

Itachi does not. “It is unprofessional,” he repeats instead of answering.

“That wasn’t a no,” Shisui says with a grin. He slides his hand farther up, thumb brushing over his navel, pressing against the heat of Itachi’s stomach. “God, you’re so much fucking prettier without the mask on.”

“I should hope that covering my face does not improve my appearance.”

“Still.” He presses forward and kisses where Itachi’s cheekbone juts up to his temple. “How are you so beautiful?”

Itachi blinks at Shisui’s wild eyes. “I believe it is due to my mother’s genes.”

Shisui snorts, breaking eye contact as he snickers. His fingers tighten on Itachi’s skin for a second, and then he’s stealing the breath right out of Itachi’s lungs.

Itachi is frozen for a moment. Shisui’s fingers press against him so tight it feels like it’s burning.

He melts.

Shisui sidles all the way against him, his entire body covering the length of Itachi’s. One hand is on his waist, a spot he’s well familiar with, and the other cradles Itachi’s jaw, one thumb pressing into his cheek. Itachi’s mouth slips open easily, letting Shisui kiss the daylights out of him, fingers curled in Shisui’s green shirt.

Finally, Shisui pulls back, both of them out of breath.

“What was all that for?” Itachi asks when he can eventually get the words out.

“I didn’t get to kiss you the other night, remember?” His lips are slightly shiny from spit. “Those damn masks got in the way.”

Itachi nods, hands still on Shisui’s chest. “Right.”

“I wanted to take your mask off so fucking bad, Itachi,” Shisui breathes. “I’ve thought about you every day since then. Every _day_ , pretty boy.”

Itachi doesn’t confess that he has been in a similar predicament.

“What gives you the right,” Shisui breathes, leaning down over him. “What gives you the right to show up out of the blue and make me think about you for weeks on end?”

Itachi’s eyes close when he feels Shisui’s teeth on his neck. “In my defense, it was not intentional.” His hands go to Shisui’s back, fingers pressing against the cool material of his shirt and sucking up the heat from his skin underneath.

“Are you going to take responsibility?” Shisui breathes, his face breaking into a grin again.

Itachi no longer minds being pinned against the door. His eyes flick to the bed across the room and then immediately back to Shisui.

“I’m not sure.”

“No?” His hand slips over to Itachi’s throat; his hand absorbs the heat there for a moment before it slides down his chest. “Did I not show you a good enough time? Do I have something to make up for?” His eyes are—wild and fiery. Itachi wasn’t able to appreciate them before, not when they were crowded by feathers. They’re almond shaped, sharpened with Shisui’s grin, hugged by thick lashes and gentle smile lines.

Itachi forces himself to look away. “Not right now.”

He cocks his head. “Is there a problem? I think we have some time to discuss work related matters.”

“I don’t,” Itachi shifts. “I don’t have the things necessary to have sex right now,” he clarifies.

Shisui’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. His surprise seems to momentarily knock him off his game. “What? You don’t have condoms in your bedroom?”

“I do not,” Itachi answers stiffly.

“…why.”

Itachi crosses his arms over his chest; he realizes how defensive he looks and immediately drops them. “I don’t make a habit of having sex here.”

Shisui whips his head around. “You don’t have sex in your _bedroom_?” He makes eye contact with Itachi, gaze piercing, and then his face breaks into a grin again. “Oh, so your usual thing is public, then? I didn’t see that for you, I’ll be honest.”

“ _No_ ,” Itachi snaps back immediately. He clears his throat. “That was not—” He stares at the wall for a moment. “I don’t make a habit of having sex anywhere.”

Shisui raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“I don’t—” Itachi grits his teeth against the embarrassment “—fuck.”

“You don’t fuck,” Shisui repeats, incredulous.

“I do not,” Itachi replies thinly.

Shisui stares at him for one long second. “So, I hate to break it to you, Itachi, but you _definitely_ fuck.”

Itachi closes his eyes. “You know what I mean. You even said it yourself when you—” Itachi is entirely too grown to be embarrassed talking about sex. “You said you could tell that I wasn’t used to it.”

Shisui has an inquisitive little look in his eyes, smile still lingering on his lips. His gaze roams over Itachi’s face for several seconds, like he’s really trying to read him. “So you just happened to decide to have sex with me that night, out of the blue, completely out of character for you?”

Itachi listens to the sound of the party downstairs, muffled through the walls. “Honestly, yes. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Shisui’s eyes go soft, then. “Okay, pretty boy,” he says around a gentle laugh. His face mellows completely, the predatory atmosphere drying up. He reaches forward and tucks Itachi’s hair behind his ear. “I understand. Don’t worry about it, then. I apologize for jumping you like that.”

Itachi ignores the second part, because he didn’t at all mind it. “Don’t worry about what?”

Shisui takes a step back and sticks a hand in his pocket, shrugging one easy-going shoulder. “You’re worried that I’m going to be inappropriate. I’m saying you don’t need to be—I promise I’ll keep my hands off of you.” He winks. “I can be good when I want to be. Besides, it would be cruel to take the _one_ hookup you have ever had and make it a bad experience. Wouldn’t want to rob some poor old fool’s chance in the future by turning you off to the idea completely, right?”

Itachi tells himself that he should feel relief at Shisui’s words. He tells himself that maybe relief and disappointment just have super similar feelings when they’re dripping down your stomach.

“Well, it was a pleasure talking business with you,” Shisui jokes. His smile pushes friendly crinkles around his eyes, and Itachi sees where the little wrinkles come from. “We can go—”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Itachi interrupts.

Shisui’s expression goes blank, and he blinks at him. “What?”

“I know you can be professional,” Itachi continues, “I didn’t think that would be a problem.”

Shisui’s brow furrows.

Itachi is running out of words to express himself, partly because he isn’t even sure what he’s feeling, and he’s certain that at least half of it is completely irrational. “There is a reason I avoid hookups,” he says quietly. “I’m not good with the—lack of attachments aspect, it seems.”

The seriousness of Shisui’s face almost startles him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything; he doesn’t want Shisui to _actually_ bail on the company, and furthermore how the _hell_ would he explain that to his father.

“I am aware that it is very silly to put any weight on the type of night we shared, but I do not know if I can keep it from interfering with our working relationship.”

Before he realizes it, Shisui has stepped forward again, standing right in front of him. “Itachi, I did already tell you that I’ve spent the past two weeks thinking about you, right?” He cups his face with one hand. “The only reason I ran away so quickly that night was because I knew if I stayed around you for too much longer, I was going to either rip your mask off or ask for your number or—something.”

“Something,” Itachi repeats in a murmur.

The corner of Shisui’s lip twitches. “I didn’t think that you wanted that, so I didn’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”

“There’s certainly nothing awkward about any of this,” Itachi jokes flatly.

“I—there’s definitely nothing silly about thinking like that.” His voice drops down to nearly a whisper. “You feel it too, yeah? I thought I was crazy for feeling so drawn to you.”

Itachi feels overwhelmed. The only thought he manages to think is that Shisui smells really, really nice.

Shisui’s thumb trails down the side of Itachi’s face, stops on his bottom lip, and presses. He leans in, really, really gentle, to kiss him again.

The wild kisses make Itachi’s blood feverish, but this gentle one, just soft lips and slow movement, the hand cradling his jaw, the way one of Shisui’s curls is tickling his ear—it’s making Itachi’s goddamn heart flutter.

Shisui pulls back with a soft noise. “I’ve been sitting around, like—absolutely floored that I actually found you again. What are the odds, you know? I’ve been whining to Konan this whole time—”

“Paper?” Itachi guesses.

Shisui’s face lights up. “Paper! Yeah, her. Her name’s Konan, she’s real great, I think you would get along with her. She liked talking with you, ya know.”

Itachi blinks. “She did?”

“Yeah!” Shisui’s voice grows with excitement. “She said her favorite part was that you gave me a hard time. God, she’s gonna be so relieved that she won’t have to hear me complain about not getting your name anymore.”

“I’ll have to apologize for inadvertently burdening her,” Itachi murmurs. He’s smiling even though his stomach is still fluttering; Shisui’s energy is just so infectious, and he puts Itachi at ease, intentional or not.

Shisui looks fully giddy now. He grabs one of Itachi’s hands with his own. “Do you want—would you want to come hang out with us sometime?”

Itachi’s fingers twitch within Shisui’s grasp.

“I really do think that you would like her,” he adds on, “so at the very least, do it for her, not me.”

When Itachi is done swimming in Shisui’s eyes, he says, “Sure. She seemed really sweet.”

“Really?”

Itachi nods a little. “Only for her sake, of course.”

“Of course.” Shisui’s smile is splitting his face in half. “This is so cool. It’s you!” He grabs Itachi’s face again. “It’s actually you! And to think I was dreading this damn dinner party so much, too.”

“You’re not alone,” Itachi murmurs. “To be fair, this entire thing is completely awful.”

“Honestly—yeah. No offense to your family, but—you know how the Senjus do it? My boss used to get drunk and arm wrestle everyone for extra vacation days.”

Itachi arches an eyebrow. “That seems risky.”

Shisui shakes his head, curls flopping. “No, because I _never_ saw that woman lose.”

“I’m afraid we are all quite boring over here.”

“Nah,” Shisui disagrees, eyes shining. “You aren’t boring at all.”

Itachi’s laugh is abrupt and sharp. “Tell that to my brother.”

“Your brother! He’s here, right?”

“Of course.”

“You gotta introduce me to him,” Shisui pleads, tugging on his arm.

“You want to meet Sasuke?” Itachi asks dubiously.

“Uh, _duh_ I want to meet the person that brought you to the masquerade. I think some gratitude is in order.”

Itachi cannot fathom why Shisui seems so giddy, but he has no reason to protest. “Alright, then. He’ll be downstairs hanging off of Naruto, probably.” Come to think of it, Shisui will probably get along great with Naruto, which could be either very good or _very_ bad.

With Shisui happily tugging him out of the room and toward the stairs, Itachi has a feeling that it will all be very, very good.

  


**Author's Note:**

> very disheartening that i accidentally wrote a masked-sex fic during quarantine. you cannot avoid The Fates.
> 
> dear lord I'm sorry that was so long it just wouldn't STOP 
> 
> I hope everyone entered 2021 safe and healthy! Thank you for reading my work <3
> 
> comments are very, very appreciated if you are able <3
> 
> love you all and see you soon!


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